Counting the Steps Back to Safe
by campylobacter
Summary: Missing scenes from "Memento Mori": Vala, still reeling from the effects of suddenly remembering too much too soon after 2 weeks of amnesia, mistakes Daniel for something he's not. Written for Nat at the 2011 Daniel/Vala Fruitcake Exchange on LiveJournal.
1. Chapter 1

She knows the gun has a certain name. The weight of the standard military issue weapon feels more familiar in her hands than the revolver she took from the hoodlums who'd tried to rob the diner, but the sound of the name that Colonel Mitchell had called her is louder: Vala Mal Doran. It's louder than Valerie Todad, louder than Val the New Girl, louder than the crossfire ricocheting through the warehouse, louder than the shouts of someone claiming he can help her remember.

Slipping past them while they're shooting each other will allow her to escape to where it's quiet enough to remember, safe enough to piece together the bizarre visions that shouldn't confirm that she's an alien from another planet, but just a witness to a strange costumed horror movie.

Rising from the cover of storage shelves, she catches a glimpse of bright daylight through the open warehouse door. There's a clear path to freedom in the span of a dozen footsteps, and no one's in sight to stop her.

No one except a tall, well-built, bespectacled, blue-eyed man pointing a strange weapon at her.

"Get out of my way."

He won't let her past, won't let her go.

Gunpowder and the metallic, electrical odor from the discharge of those strange, serpent-shaped weapons wafts through the building and jogs more memories: she remembers how to unlock and activate the serpent-like guns, how to fire them, but not what they're named. They can stun with one shot, kill with a second. She gets him to put it down, but he still won't let her go.

Yet it's the sound of his voice, the look on his face, all the words he's saying that carry her farther from danger, closer to safety, anchoring her to where she's needed most.

"...It's over. Now it's time to come home."

Home? Suddenly she's in a room, at a large table, in a meeting where her request to join something is being considered. There's the face of a big, handsome man whose forehead is branded with gold, an air of majesty and mystery about him; the face of a beautiful blonde woman with the confidence of intellectual certitude in her large, kind eyes; the face of this gentle, scholarly man with eyeglasses, welcoming her as a colleague; the amiable face of that brave colonel she'd hand-cuffed to the motel bed; the face of a gruff but fatherly man in authority. They are the explorers, the team she's "along for the ride" with. Yet foremost among them is the face that follows her into an elevator, a face that looks at her with amusement, patience, pride, respect. Home.

"Daniel?" The syllables, scant whispers, feel familiar on her tongue, like a name spoken in supplication just before she wakes from a dream.

At last, Daniel's coming forward to hold her, not letting her go, allowing their embrace to linger for as long as she needs – partly from supporting half her weight as her knees give out.

Partly by the way she's returning the force of his hug.

Partly by the way she's trembling like a moth with a broken wing, and trying to keep sobs of relief from wracking her body.

He smells of coffee and leather, of ink and old books. His is the perfume of home – a home she can almost remember. And still he doesn't let go of her, surrounding her with more than mere strength, but with compassion.

She opens her eyes, wondering how much of the Mary Kay foundation Bonnie sold her is running down her face. Through the watery lens of tears she sees three of the faces which appeared in her latest vision. (Names, what are their names?) Of course, there's Colonel Mitchell, who looks like Purpose. The blonde woman: Clarity? The majestic man: Justice?

She closes her eyes again and clings to Home.


	2. Chapter 2

He opens his eyes and breathes in the scent of her hair.

The first time she shook in his arms like this, she was inhabiting Sallis's reborn body, and smelled of the most horrifying smoke he'd ever inhaled. The second time, she'd been trying to stand on the deck of the Odyssey after taking an Ori staff blast meant for him, and smelled of afterbirth and scorched silk. This time, she feels more fragile despite being less injured, the aroma of grilled onions and packaged Choco Waffle on her a comforting contrast to the gunpowder and zat fire hanging in the air.

"Uh, Jackson, we might wanna leave before the press gets here." Mitchell gestures an "all clear" at a couple of SWAT operatives entering the building to do a final sweep.

He can't let her go yet.

"Indeed; the reports we heard on the radio about an 'armed and dangerous ninja waitress' will attract more media attention."

She turns in his arms and looks at the one who'd uttered those words. "You're Teal'c. It means 'strength'," she murmurs, then looks at Sam. "And you're Colonel Carter – the real one, not the one who arrested me."

"Hi Vala." Sam smiles warmly. Suddenly Vala launches herself from his arms to tackle-hug her. Before Sam can fully return the hug after catching her balance, Vala flings herself at Teal'c, who solidly catches her without flinching.

Mitchell's face breaks into a jubilant grin as he rubs her back. "C'mon, let's get you home, Ninja Waitress."

She's steadier on her feet as they make their way to where the black SUV is parked, walking as close to Daniel as possible. He tentatively drapes an arm across her back as the rest of the team goes forward to pile in the car; she leans into his side.

"I, I can't," she whispers, closing her eyes, shaking her head as though shaking off a flashback. "The last time I got in with..." The red scrape along her jawline, the handcuff gouges on her wrists speak more loudly than her protests.

Before Daniel can reassure her, Mitchell turns up the radio and leans out of the front passenger's side window. "Hey, Black Eyed Peas, Vala. Your favorite." He bobs his head to _my hump, my hump my hump my hump, my lovely lady lumps_.

She blinks, distracted from whatever haunts her. Sam grins and beckons to her from the back seat while waving a cardboard pine tree air freshener at Teal'c, in the driver's seat.

Daniel rolls his eyes. "I don't blame you; we can be an intimidating strike team. Sort of."

Vala's troubled frown vanishes; she lets out a short laugh and steps in, covering her nose.

He follows her in, but after two weeks of doing everything he could to get her back, he's not sure he can do everything he can to get back to where they left off. Her hand grazes his thigh as she fishes around for the seat belt – a light, inadvertent touch by a delicate, injured wrist that sends a not-so-delicate shiver through him.

"Please turn that off and turn on the police scanner," Sam says, leaning forward to tap Mitchell's shoulder while Teal'c adjusts his seat and the rear view mirror. Vala fumbles for her seat belt buckle, grabbing Sam's instead.

Daniel reaches over to help Vala click the correct buckle, and is relieved that she doesn't shrink from the close contact. Instead, she seems relieved by his nearness, and leans against him as he buckles himself in.

As Teal'c maneuvers the SUV between armored trucks and squad cars parked haphazardly around the warehouse, Sam settles in her seat and reads Vala's t-shirt. "Sol's Diner, specialty sandwiches, fresh, delicious?"

Vala looks down at her chest. "I had to pay for my Blue Plate Special somehow."

"How'd you get a job without a valid Social Security Number or proof of citizenship?" Daniel asks, unsure if he should ignore her assumption of intimacy, or guide her in relearning work-appropriate personal space. He moves away the arm she's leaning on and rests it on the seat behind her.

"I, I told Sal I could beat a mean rhythm on bread dough, but he insisted he needed more help waiting tables." She interprets his motion as an invitation to snuggle into his side. "Remember when you came home after you'd joined the military? And I was making bread?" She looks up at him wistfully. "How could I have forgotten you, Daniel?" She reaches up to stroke his cheek. "All the swooning maidens envied me for marrying the handsomest bachelor in the village," she teases and tweaks his nose playfully.

Something inside his chest tightens as his stomach sinks. Microseconds stretch into minutes, sudden panic magnifying each sight, sound, touch: the warmth and weight of her body against his, the background din of staticky chatter on the scanner, Sam's wide-eyed look of surprise, Teal'c's unguarded glance of alarm in the rear view mirror, Mitchell's uneasy throat clearing.

Vala lets out a sad chuckle. "You never bargained on hunting down a runaway wife, did you?" She suddenly winces, bringing up a hand to rub her temples. "Does anyone have an ibuprofen? My head's a throbbing, wonko mess."

Sam immediately pats her jacket pockets, then swats Mitchell, already fumbling in the glove compartment for a first aid kit.

"Uhh, you're... you're just tired and confused," Daniel flounders. "You'll feel better after you've had some rest." He awkwardly pats her shoulder, uncertain if comforting her physically — as a husband would — will fuel her delusion.

"Vala, you coulda taken a mighty bump upside the head when that car overturned with you in it, so no drugs until the doc okays it." Mitchell's eyes meet his in for a brief, significant moment. "I know exactly what it's like, not being able to trust your own memory."

Daniel recalls all the times his own mind had been altered or tampered with, how the sudden or gradual rediscovery of his very identity felt like being reborn, to varying degrees, as his memories returned. Mitchell's ordeal with false memory implantation was just one among many times SG-1 had to trust instinct over experience to overcome the odds.

"I may not remember everything right now, but I do remember how I felt about you." Vala trails her finger along Daniel's thigh, and the forbidden sensation overwhelms him with the intensity of temptations he'd fought for years. "How I feel about you. All of you." She looks at Teal'c, Mitchell, Sam. Daniel swallows hard as she continues. "If I focus on the love, more memories fall into place."

Sam takes her hand. "Once you get back to the SGC," she soothes her, "I'm sure you'll remember it all."

Yes," Daniel blurts, "and Dr. Fraiser will che— Lam. I mean Dr. Lam. Will do a full checkup."

Too late, he can't take back Janet's name, nor the way Teal'c grips the steering wheel harder, nor the way Sam turns her face to the window as though taking interest in the passing scenery.

"Daniel Jackson, you have been sleep deprived for two weeks and also require rest." Teal'c's implicit message both excuses his gaffe and cautions against speaking further.

Vala yawns and nestles herself closer to Daniel. He looks at the others, self-conscious of being conscripted into a duty he hasn't served for seven years, but their eyes are full of concern for Vala. He suddenly remembers that Kasuf and Sha're had done the same thing to him ten years ago: making him a husband against his consent, but not, as it turned out, against his fondest wish.

They all spend the rest of the ride in silence, the police scanner's intermittent rasps a dull distraction from resurfacing memories too painful to remember, but too cherished to forget.


	3. Chapter 3

"It's not familiar, not at all."

"You have never before seen the entrance tunnel to Cheyenne Mountain in the daylight," Teal'c says.

She reaches for her husband's hand, and wonders why he's so uneasy with physical contact. She knows this man intimately; she can detect the tension he's trying to hide by the set of his mouth, the faint frown lines on his brow, by his tentative hold on her hand.

"Darling, why must you treat me like a glass-blown egg?"

"Wha— what?"

"And where's your wedding band? Married couples wear nuptial bands on this planet."

This planet. The growing unfamiliarity of what she'd taken for granted as familiar unsettles her. She doesn't know this planet as well as some others.

"We don't have wedding rings," he replies cautiously. "Because we have... no need for them."

After multiple security checkpoints and scattered visions flashing through her brain, they finally reach an elevator—

"No, oh no." She can't step in. More images flood her mind, chief among them the experience of being heavily pregnant, then suddenly not-pregnant and in Daniel's body. It makes no sense, none at all. "Where's our baby? How could I forget the baby? They took her, didn't they? They're keeping her from me." She won't get in that elevator, won't let them take her down into the depths of the mountain without her daughter.

She tries to run, but Teal'c catches her. So many faces hover over her: alarmed, upset faces. She knows them, knows they won't hurt her, but she can't trust what she's remembering, and punches Cam in his wounded arm, jabs Sam in the belly, kicks Daniel in the ribs, bruises Teal'c's shins, because—

"I'm not Qetesh! I was only her unwilling host. Let me go—"

But they don't; someone holds her arms to her side in a massive bear hug, and her legs are held tight together with a firm grip; two hands hold her head still, making her look into eyes brimming with tears behind glasses sitting askance.

"Listen Vala, please. You're safe. You're home. We're not gonna let anyone hurt you. Remember."

She's looking into the same eyes, but in a different body. The fire is gone, the fatal heat replaced by soothing warmth, the pain washed away like ash under a drift of snow. She's reborn in another body, yet herself, reassembled by a primal, dangerous power.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, or anyone." She goes limp, relenting to fatigue. "I just want to be myself again."

And then she's suddenly flat on her back, on a rolling bed, watching ceilings layered in pipes go by, fading to soft, soundless gray.

When she wakens, the infirmary's exactly the way she remembers. Carolyn Lam's face is as beautiful and serious as it was when her consciousness had returned from Sallis's body.

"Hi Vala. Glad to see you're awake."

"Hi, Dr. Lam. Miss me?"

Carolyn's answering smile gives her confidence, but before the doctor can reply, Daniel speaks up from the other side of the bed.

"Vala, how do you feel?"

The relief in his eyes is tempered by the way he covers his bottom teeth with his lower lip in a familiar way, indicating doubt. Doubt that she feels well? Or doubt that she's—

"...not your wife." She can't look at him any more, can't look at anything, so she shuts her eyes and lets her eyelids stop the tears. Not his wife, not the mother of his child, not even a mother, really. She's regained clarity by losing what she thought she had.

She feels his hand — warm, large, comforting — cover hers in a firm, steadfast grip, anchoring her to the present, and to her new life.

"But you found your way back. I knew you would." With his other hand, he brushes a stray lock from her forehead. She opens her eyes. "You always survive." He looks so hopeful, so trusting, so grateful.

"So then," she begins, "are we on for dinner again this Friday?"

His momentary surprise gives way to joy. "Uh, sure," he laughs. "I'll let you pick the restaurant, this time." 


End file.
